


In the Same League

by LadyDrace



Series: Junk Ficlets from Tumblr [106]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beta Derek Hale, Deputy Derek Hale, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Light Angst, M/M, POV Stiles, Self Confidence Issues, Spark Stiles Stilinski, blink and you miss it smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 20:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11043408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Having a model-hot boyfriend is cool most of the time. Except maybe when you're subconsciously afraid of losing him.





	In the Same League

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lena221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena221b/gifts).



> Originally [posted on Tumblr](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com/post/149832030691/in-the-same-league) as a birthday present for Lena221B. <3
> 
> Unbetaed.

It’s been three long days, and Stiles could weep from how happy he is when he realizes that the magic user’s convention is winding down half a day early, and he can head home rather than stay another night. So he drives for six hours, drags himself up the porch steps of the rebuilt Hale house close to midnight, and lets himself in with a sigh of relief. Home at last.

 

It’s dark inside, but the TV is on, adding soft background noise and a flicker of light in the living room, and Stiles grins when he spots Derek asleep on the couch. He’s obviously tired too.

 

Derek doesn’t like to admit it, but he sleeps poorly without Stiles, and also doesn’t like when he’s so far away. But their schedules just did not match up well enough this time, so Derek couldn’t tag along. To make up for it he took on way too much work at the sheriff’s department to keep his mind off his empty bed, and, werewolf or not, three days of non-stop work is apparently enough to make anyone pass out on the couch.

 

He doesn’t even stir when Stiles flicks on a small lamp, and quietly sits himself on the coffee table, just to look his fill for a minute. He’ll poke Derek awake, and drag him off to bed in a minute. But as soon as Stiles’ eyes adjust to the light he frowns. Because Derek looks different, the soft glow of the lamp showing Stiles something he’s never seen before.

 

He’s seen Derek bruised, bleeding and broken. He’s seen him naked and clothed, angry and happy, filthy and clean, and a million other things. But this…

 

Derek is obviously exhausted, dark bags under his eyes saying that he probably hasn’t slept a wink in the whole three days. His hair looks greasy and mussed up on the side he collapsed on, and he’s snoring  the way he’ll always and forever deny is a thing, because he’s an adorable dork like that. He’s wearing sweatpants, pulled up to his waist, and cinched tight, because that whole low-slung thing he does is apparently only for driving Stiles crazy with lust, and as such not important when he’s not there to tease. The outfit is completed with one of Stiles’ shirts. The ugliest one he owns, frankly. It’s a faded mustard yellow sweatshirt with holes along the collar, and there’s tomato sauce stains down the front, probably from the pizza Derek had for dinner, judging by the empty box on the table.

 

On top of that, Derek is unshaven, stubble patchy and not long enough yet for his usual sculpting routine when he’s in the mood for having a beard. He’s actually drooling a little bit, and there’s another smudge of tomato sauce on his chin, and he’s got a pretty significant amount of sleep crud in the corner of one eye.

 

He looks terrible.

 

Derek Hale actually looks awful. _Derek. Hale_. Derek Hale, who could make bank just from standing still and looking pretty. Derek Hale, who no one at college even believed Stiles was actually going super steady with until he drove for four hours to come and shower Stiles in PDA in front of everyone. Derek Hale, whose idea of casual Sunday attire is shirtless and painfully sexy. And even though he’s not an alpha anymore he still has an unreal physique, working out at least every other day, and still waxing his chest now and then, even though Stiles loves his chest hair.

 

Stiles gets it, he does. After everything Derek has been through he probably needs to feel like he’s in control in some way, and his brutal upkeep of his appearance is obviously a part of that. And it’s not exactly any skin off Stiles’ teeth to have a smoking hot boyfriend.

 

Except… it kinda is a little bit.

 

See, Stiles was never anything special in the looks department. Going to college helped his confidence, but it couldn’t _really_ make up for the years of scathing comments from his peers as he was growing up. So while he’s aware, logically, that he’s decently attractive, no one can ever really measure up to Derek Hale. He sees people eyeing Derek wherever they go. Thirsty housewives start speeding when they see his cruiser, just to get the hot deputy to give them a ticket. Single moms suddenly struggle with their groceries the minute they spot him, despite being fine only seconds earlier. Twinks practically draping themselves all over him when he breaks up parties, or does drug searches at Jungle.

 

People will flirt openly with Derek, even if he’s holding hands with Stiles. Hell, a waiter once spent fifteen minutes putting the moves on Derek when he was out with Stiles for a romantic candle lit dinner, and did just not take a hint until Stiles lost it, ranting his head off, until Derek dragged him outside. Derek still maintains the guy was just being friendly, because he’s exactly as oblivious as he’s gorgeous.

 

So, yeah. Stiles knows he’ll never measure up. And he knows Derek. Knows that Derek is in this for good, and has no plans to leave, and will probably pop the question as soon as he thinks he has enough to offer, which is ridiculous, because he always did have plenty to offer. A steady job and therapy sessions won’t really change that in Stiles’ opinion. But, even so, there’ll always be a tiny niggle of fear in the back of his mind. A minuscule little seed of doubt, of worry that maybe one day someone amazing will show up, and Derek will realize that there are people out there who are better than Stiles. Who can make him happier.

 

And Stiles would like to believe that if ( _when_ ) that time comes that he’d be the better man, and let Derek go, wishing him all the happiness in the world.

 

But it would kill him. In spirit if not in body. Stiles doesn’t think he could bear losing Derek.

 

And it’s fucked up, it is, Stiles is perfectly aware. But to see Derek like this, grubby, tired, _human_ … it makes that tiny fear inside fade away, and Stiles smothers a sudden sob with his palm, shocked by the unexpected relief, and it makes Derek stir. He makes a sleepy sort of grunt, cracks his gummy eyes open, and smiles slowly when he spots Stiles. But it only lasts until he realizes that Stiles is upset.

 

Stiles can’t imagine what kind of contradictory input Derek might be getting, because he’s forcing back tears, but he’s also just so happy. So deliriously happy, and Derek sits up slowly with a frown.

 

“Hey. You’re home. What’s-”

 

That’s as far as he gets before Stiles crashes into him, dizzy with the joy of actually feeling like they’re in the same league for once, and he’s obviously confused, but he also never denies Stiles anything.

 

It’s a frenzy of hungry kisses and groping hands, and Stiles doesn’t even care one tiny bit that Derek’s mouth is kinda rank, and that he really could have used a shower sometime in the past fourty-eight hours. None of that is important, and he straddles Derek on the couch, pulls just enough clothes aside to get both their cocks out, and strokes them off together in no time at all, only stopping to breathe when Derek is slack and gasping under him.

 

“Hi,” Derek says, face dopey and voice raspy, and _god_ Stiles loves him so much.

 

“Hi,” he says back, tears still prickling at his eyes, but he forces them down, not about to make Derek worry about him.

 

So he cleans up the jizz, probably with less care than he should have, and immediately drags Derek out for milkshakes at the nearest all-night place. He has to sniff hard when Derek just gets up and comes along, not even stopping to put on actual clothes, just mashing his feet into the nearest pair of shoes, and following him to the Jeep. And it’s glorious how no one gives them a second look. Not that the place is crowded at one AM, but still. It’s a weight off Stiles’ heart that he hadn’t even realized was so heavy, and Derek looks significantly more at ease now that he can smell how happy Stiles is with no conflicting visual cues.

 

They’re both exhausted, and they’re probably gonna need about a week of sleep to make up for the past few days, but Stiles is happy. So incredibly happy to feel, just for once in his life, like no one might come along and snatch up this amazing person he somehow get lucky enough to have in his life.

 

Thing is, though… Derek might be oblivious to romantic overtures, but he’s not a deputy for nothing, and he starts putting things together soon after that. And because he’s a sincere sort of asshole like that, he insists they _talk_ about it. Certain things then come to light, and it does make Stiles a little bit sheepish to have assumed too much, because it turns out at least a few of Derek’s obsessive grooming routines was an attempt to feel good enough for _Stiles_. There’s a teeny tiny chance Derek might be on to something with the whole talking about things…

 

The look on Scott’s face when he comes over one Saturday to find Derek in neon green board shorts and flip flops, sporting a near-unibrow and impressive bed head is nothing short of priceless.

 

And nothing beats the fondness exploding out of Stiles’ heart every time he spots something green stuck in Derek’s adorable bunny teeth, and all he does is shrug, instead of running off to fix it.

 

This is happiness.

 

End.


End file.
